Mr Perfect
by ClaptonJr
Summary: Andy's life is turned on end when he is given the chance to go into space by a billionare named Hugo Drax. After secretive training in California and a covert movement to Brazil, Andy begins to suspect something is up. Eventually, he figures out what he has unwittingly become a part of, but what will he do to fix it?


Mr. Perfect

**In Moonraker (1979), Bond checks on his cargo and sees that the Moonraker mission is actually a kind of "Noah's Ark," a sanctuary of the physically best people.**

**This is the story of one of those physically "superior" people, from his point of view. He is…**

**Mr. Perfect.**

**Actually, his name is Andrew Maurice Copeland, or Andy. He lives in New York City, a city that's far from perfect in society that's even more flawed than the city. Not that the city's any worse than other cities. It's just that in 1979, the only good thing supporting the city was bedrock.**

**This story starts in 1978. Now, we can presume that Bond's universe was slightly different from our own. They did not have operating space shuttles in 1978. In fact, the first, the structural copy of a flight-ready space shuttle, was then making its first test flights from the back of a Boeing 747. But other than a few slight technological differences, Bond's New York was our New York.**

1978

Viewed from space, New York is probably nothing more than a patch of grey during the day and a cluster of lights at night. But from the ground, New York is a bustling, never-stopping city of millions. Politically, New York is headed by Edward Koch, our new mayor. But a select part of upper NYC seemed like it was controlled by someone else. This independent territory was never still, and it always moved with its owner. His name is Andy Copeland. He was me.

One Saturday, I was walking up the street towards the west end of New York. I always looked into shop windows in New York. I mean, this is America. Here we can want things we didn't even know we wanted. You never know what you'll find.

_Custom made watches…_

_Floral Arrangements…_

_Olympus Fitness-Now Open…_

Ain't nobody got time for that!

My friend James coined that phrase. He says someday it's gonna be a phenomenon.

Uh huh. _Sure_.

_A new coffee shop opened…_

What the heck_? Go into space! Apply at 1 New York Plaza_, a sign said.

Sighing, I shook my head. That can't be true. Apollo is done, and the shuttles aren't working yet.

_But there's that guy Drax…_ I thought. _He builds space shuttles. Just maybe…_

What did I have to lose? Maybe I actually could get into space.

New York is a large place, but once you live there, you get used to it. The key to living in the city is to never stop moving. I, for example, run laps in and around Central Park for fun. When I actually have to get somewhere, I just run. I'm used to it. The money I have, I need to save. Since Dad lost his job, we haven't been able to do anything. No, I haven't been in a taxi in almost four years.

The Crisis of 1975 hit my family hard. My dad's job at the Port Authority was cut and his expenses were frozen. This left us without anything except my college money and my mom's car. I was eighteen then, and I was ready to leave for NYU.

Take sixty thousand out of my family's stash to support me, and what do you get?

A hopeless teenager with a nice face and a bad future.

Now, I'm 21 and a half, but nothing has changed.

I thought about all of this as I strolled down West Street. It's not really a street, but a highway. It has, like, seven or eight lanes. Across it, the monstrous World Trade Center loomed over everything else. had the chance to someday have a corner office at some big company up there. Now, since I'll never go to college, I'll never get the chance.

I once read in a poem that if you run fast enough, your anger, sadness and loneliness could never catch up to you.

I haven't ever run that fast, but I don't plan on giving up anytime soon. Unless I find sanctuary from my self-pity, I'll never stop.

Well, to say that I never stop moving is an exaggeration; if you absolutely had to find me, you could bet on one of two places. The first was my apartment on the west side of New York city, located at W 72 Street and Central Park West. It's called the Dakota, a Victorian-era apartment building. Trust me, I'm not complaining. My family was lucky enough to snag an old storage closet at the top of the building, overlooking Central Park. It has a low, slanted ceiling that almost touches the floor in places, but it has a nice effect. It has two windows, too. It even came with a few furnishings. My desk chair is only a hundred years old, and I don't care that one of the legs is cracked.

Enter, my good friend, Sarcasm.

The other place was a disco club, the local discotheque, located on the West Side. Every Saturday night I would go there with my friends. We weren't the best crowd, and it seemed I was the only moral person in that group. But my friends were pretty cool.

And, unlike those friends portrayed in cheap movies, I could count on them.

But the best part is, they are actually real people. My friends aren't like socialites or the long-removed British nobility. They are real, and that scared me at first. But that also means they're special, they're one of a kind.

We're a tight group. I serve as the conscience and mediator, James is the reckless delinquent, Sammy is the pervert, Tom is the comedian and well-meaning kleptomaniac, Bobby is the dancer, and Johnny tags along. It doesn't work well on paper, but it sure works in real life.

As Tom would say, "Who cares if it doesn't work on paper? We can't afford it anyways."

He could always steal some for you, though.

All in all, they're an okay group, rough on the edges, but loyal and decent inside.

Thinking about all of this, I continued down West Street, humming softly.

"Da de de da da, da de de dum…"

And I fell flat on my face.

Looking around, I realized that I had tripped on a novel that had been lying on the curb, probably discarded or dropped from a passing car. It looked new, like it had hardly been read. I picked it up and examined it.

" 'The Outsiders'," I read aloud. " 'by S.E. Hinton.' Hmm. He sound like a pretty good author."

Opening the book and glancing at its contents, I continued south towards 1 New York Plaza.

**I always gotta do a backstory/intro chapter, but I think this gives you a wide base for this story. It's always fun to tie in your own supporting characters, because you can start off with a blank slate, but you already know the plot.**

**I also usually sympathize with members of Drax's race. I seem to hope they were just pawns in a grand yet evil master strategy. And that's how I'm gonna work this story. **

**I'm going to make a lot of references to other things, like the WTC and "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That." I will manipulate these things so you can get to know the characters better.**

**The next chapter will be here in about two weeks.**

**-ClaptonJr.**

**P.S. Andy assumed wrongly. S.E. Hinton is a girl.**


End file.
